


A Dangerous Idea That Almost Makes Sense ("Love Is Blindness")

by Daisy Gamgee (DaisyGamgee)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Love Is Blindness, M/M, Songfic Challenge, U2 - Freeform, achtung baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyGamgee/pseuds/Daisy%20Gamgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is clockworks and cold steel<br/>Fingers too numb to feel<br/>Squeeze the handle<br/>Blow out the candle<br/>Love is blindness</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dangerous Idea That Almost Makes Sense ("Love Is Blindness")

“Love is Blindness” by Daisy Gamgee  
Written for redscudery’s “Achtung, Baby” U2 songfic challenge

John/Sherlock

_Love is blindness_  
I don't want to see  
Won't you wrap the night around me  
Take my heart  
Love is blindness 

“Did we really need to hire a Range Rover for this?”

“Look around you. It’s the most common vehicle here. We’re as inconspicuous as we can be, we can see the main entrance as well as the emergency exit, which is not connected to any alarm, just used as a discreet escape.” Sherlock leaned back in the driver’s seat. “You and I can be seen, mostly in silhouette, not enough to distinguish our features. So. Yes, it was necessary.”

“Mm, yes, because no one would recognize Sherlock Holmes’ distinct profile.”

“No one is looking for Sherlock Holmes. They’re looking for anonymous sex. It’s a gay meat market, John, not a gentlemen’s club.” He reached over and slowly ran a finger along John’s jaw.

“What was that?” John frowned.

Sherlock paused, tilted his head, and lowered his hand to John’s shoulder. “We’re two men in a parked car outside a busy gay club on a main street. If all we do is sit and watch the doors, we’ll be very conspicuous. Here, turn toward me.”

John twisted himself in his seat to face Sherlock. The lights from the outside of the club cast a glow around Sherlock’s hair, a little halo of rainbow neon. He’d seen the effects of lighting at night on that tumble of curls before, but somehow the harsh club light made the halo seem alive. He wanted to touch it, but stopped himself, placing his hand on the head rest of Sherlock’s seat.

“That’s better.” Sherlock leaned in, then peered over John’s shoulder. “Damn. Not him. Well. It’s early yet.”

“We’ll be here awhile, mostly likely. All right. Good thing I didn’t have that third coffee, then.” John shuffled his feet, then with a huff of impatience released his safety belt, allowing him to turn toward Sherlock without undue torsion.

“Piss out the door if you have to. No one will notice.”

“No. No, because a passing cop will notice, then I’ll have another ASBO, thanks to you.”

“I wouldn’t do that, John. I’d stay and square it away. You have my word.”

John snorted. “Yes, your word, for all that’s worth. A mouse’s tit is what it’s worth.”

“Ah, good, yes, we should act out a row. Seems to be the done thing.” 

“I’m not acting. I’m no actor, remember?” John’s jaw clenched and he took a deep breath. “Nope. No. We’re on a case, we can’t get into a real row now.”

“What do you mean, John, that my word is worth nothing to you?” Sherlock frowned and turned fully to face him.

John leaned back a little. “Not one word when it would have made all the difference.” He harrumphed. “You’re a liar, Sherlock.”

Sherlock lowered his head. “Only when it’s necessary.”

“For _two years_.”

“Ah.” Sherlock’s expression was unreadable in the near-darkness of the car’s interior. “I did explain that, John. I had thought I had your forgiveness.”

“You do.” John crossed his arms. “Just not my trust. Not yet. Listen, just forgot I said anything, all right? Stupid to get angry when I didn’t even pee out the door yet.”

They both laughed, and John’s posture relaxed a bit.

“I should have trusted you.” Sherlock straightened John’s shirt collar, brushing his hand down the front placket. “No, don’t pull away. This has to look convincing.”

“Who’s looking?” He glanced over Sherlock’s shoulder to see a man smiling in their direction. “Shouldn’t we have parked further back?”

“I told you, I need to see both doors.” Sherlock ran his hand through John’s hair, spiking it a bit between his fingers.

“And we wonder why people talk.”

“No, you wonder. I don’t care. You’re going to have to touch me, you know, if this is going to work. Have you ever considered that your concern about what other people think of our relationship is rather insulting to me? Either you touch me in some way or I’m going to kiss you.”

John leaned forward again and took Sherlock’s hands in his. “Why would that insult you? I’m really not gay.”

“The more often you say it, the less anyone believes it.” Sherlock raised John’s hands and kissed the backs of them. “What does it matter now that you’ve publicly married a woman?” He leaned in very close. “Now that you’ve chosen heterodomesticity. “

“Chosen what?” John stopped himself from leaning away. So close, so very close that John could smell the scent in hair and clothing, and he shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Am I so repugnant to you? Other people seem to find me attractive enough. Men. Women. But not John Watson.” Sherlock turned one of John’s hands over and ran his tongue over the palm. “Never John Watson.” He pressed his mouth to John’s wrist, lingering, with a slight touch of teeth.

John had to clear his throat to speak. “I know you too well. High functioning sociopath, remember? You use me enough as it is.”

“I see.” Sherlock perched on the edge of the seat, pushing one of his knees between John’s legs. “That explains it. ‘I’m not gay.’ ‘We’re not a couple.’ ‘I’m not his date.’ ‘For the last time, I’m not _actually_ gay.’ Surely that explains everything. Oh, dear. No, it doesn’t.”

“Look, I haven’t said it since the wedding.”

“You haven’t had to. You’ve established your very serious legally-sanctioned not-gayness. Good job, you.” Sherlock slipped a hand behind John’s neck. “Having loads of heteronormative sex, then?

“That is none of your damn business.”

“That quite obvious bulge in your trousers might put the lie to that. It’s right there between us. I can hardly avoid it.”

John tried to push his thighs together, but Sherlock slid his knee closer. “What’s your point?”

Sherlock pulled John’s neck forward and touched their foreheads together. His mouth was disconcertingly close. “Three major possibilities, any single item or combination of which could be true. One: your libido is extraordinarily strong, and you become involuntarily aroused by most anything. Two: you are not sexually satisfied by your wife, so are frustrated and thus easily aroused. This, of course, does not preclude that number one could also be true. Three: despite your protestations, you are, in fact, sexually attracted to me, and are responding to my close physical presence and my touching you. This does not preclude that numbers one and two could be true, or that all three may be true.”

“Bastard.”

“Your pulse is racing, your breathing has quickened, and you have an erection. I think if I do this…” Sherlock touched his mouth to John’s cheek.

“Stop it.”

“So which is it, John? One…” He breathed into the shell of John’s ear. “Two…” A hand snaked up John’s thigh. “Three.” He nipped John’s lower lip. “Or perhaps all of the above.” The hand moved further up and squeezed. “No, don’t pull away, you’ll break our cover.”

“Sherlock, I will break your _arm_ if you don’t st…Oh, Jesus.” The hand on his thigh had moved to his crotch, and Sherlock’s hands, John thought, were both very large and very strong. He grabbed Sherlock’s shoulders to steady himself.

“He just went into the front entrance. Good. Leave time to chat someone up, find a dark corner or a stairwell, then to the back room for a top-up. He should be out in an hour or so.” He stopped squeezing and John grunted. “Oh. I’m sorry. Rather rude of me, leaving you like this.” Sherlock let loose of John and scrambled into the back seat. “Well, come on. Can’t very well do this in the driver’s seat.”

John’s head felt very foggy and he heard blood rushing in his ears. “Do what?”

“John. You’re not stupid. Obtuse, on occasion, certainly, but you know perfectly well what I’m suggesting.” He patted the bench seat next to him.

_In a parked car in a crowded street_  
You see your love made complete  
Thread is ripping  
The knot is slipping  
Love is blindness 

“Damn it.” John hesitated, ran his hand through his hair, and moved to the back. Number one was at least partially true, number two was damned well true, and he refused to consciously think about number three. “Now what?”

“Now this.” Sherlock reached for John’s belt buckle, expertly unfastening it, then popped open the button on the waistband. 

“Should we really be doing this? We’re on a case.”

“Why ever not? You have need, I have time. Oh, damn, the zip’s stuck.”

“Shit.” John tugged at the slider, to no avail.

“Stop, you’ll get yourself snagged.” Sherlock slipped his hand between the fly and the pants inside. “Stop squirming.”

“Difficult not to.” John tried to control his movements and his breathing, and failed.

“I think I have it. I can’t see it.”

The zipper noisily separated itself from the fly, ripping the placket along the stitching line.

“Oh. Sorry. What should I…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But you won’t be able to do up…”

“I’ll get it fixed later. Don’t worry about it.” John was all too aware that Sherlock’s hand was just a slight layer of thin fabric away from his cock.

Sherlock sighed. “All right, then.” He pulled the pants down under John’s balls, grabbed his penis hard, and bent down to pull the head of it into his mouth.

“Fuck.” John hadn’t experienced this in so long that he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like. He groaned deep in his chest and balled his fists, then decided to just give in and thread his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, his arousal pulsing with each movement of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock slowed, seeming to savor what he was tasting, and John closed his hands in the silky curls and pushed. And pushed. And pushed.

_A little death without mourning_  
No call and no warning  
Baby, a dangerous idea that almost makes sense 

He came fast and hard, with a growl and a rush of sensation that made him see stars for a long moment. Sherlock lingered, lapping at his cock like a thirsty cat, all tongue and nips and tiny, tiny mewling noises that John wasn’t sure he wasn’t making himself.

“Dear God, Sherlock. Oh, my god.” He caressed Sherlock’s head, brushed his fingers through the curls, laughed softly when Sherlock peered up at him with a barely-visible smile. Oh, but this man was perfect. “Oh, I do love…”

He almost said it. Almost. That he felt it was enough of a problem—if he said it, the fresh hells that would unleash in his life were much more than he could cope with. Not now. It was too late. It was too fucking late, because he had a wife at home with a baby on the way. “Mary,” he whispered sadly.

_Love is drowning in a deep well_  
All the secrets and no one to tell  
Take the money, honey  
Blindness 

Sherlock sat up abruptly, ran his hand roughly across his mouth, and quickly got back into the driver’s seat. “Do yourself up. We’re going.”

“What? The case…”

“He slipped out the back when I wasn’t looking. I’m sure of it. We’re going.” Sherlock turned the ignition and pulled away sharply from the kerb. He didn’t say another word as he drove John home to his lawfully wedded wife.

_Love is blindness_  
I don't want to see  
Won't you wrap the night around me  
Oh, my love  
Blindness 


End file.
